CURRENT LOCATION: Accra, Ghana

LOCAL TIME: 22h55

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 27 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Land by Maggie O’Farrell

Hi there,

Hestie is back! I did promise that the newsletter of last week was not going to be the last one I would send out during my time here in Ghana. I told myself to not get “stuck” on only talking about the problem, as it risks portraying only a small, “sensation-driven,” part of the full story (such as the pictures I shared of the beaches filled with trash). These “shocking” images or facts often (and quite surprisingly you could argue) don’t lead to the large-scale change you think it would. Stories about people do tend to leave an imprint, and the stories shared by Kantamanto’s community certainly have had that effect on me. I hope they will do the same for you as well.

Imaginary, but relatable conversation with a sweat-stained, colour-faded T-shirt you have in your wardrobe.

Me: I love you T-shirt, we have shared some wonderful moments together (remember that one holiday in Greece?), but the sweat stains under your armpits and faded colours are just really putting me off. I think this is where we should part ways…

T-shirt: Gurl, don’t do this please! Think of what we have been through together (yes, that holiday in Greece!). Don’t let me go, not just yet … What if we still spend our night together? I can become your new pyjama tee? What do you think?

Me: Pff … I don’t know. I just really think you don’t spark any joy anymore (referring to Marie Kondo’s world-renowned “spark joy method” to declutter)

T-shirt: I can’t believe you are doing this to me … Where will I go next?

Me: Don’t worry, I am not going to throw you away! I’ll donate you and I am sure you will find a new home soon!

T-shirt: Will I?

If you are reading this newsletter, you are most likely not a child. Still, introducing the complexity of the international secondhand clothing trade seemed the easiest through a very “dumbed-down” exchange between you and one of your imaginary stained T-shirts (or whichever garment you have stopped wearing for some reason). Topic is extremely complex and multi-layered, not something I can unpack in today’s newsletter. Yet, it conveys a key decision we have all made on multiple occasions: we own and wear a garment, which at some point we don’t want anymore. We decide to part ways with it, clear ourselves from that clutter, and move on without giving it a second thought.

If you are living in the Global North, most likely you have been taught to donate your garments in a donation box near you or drop it off at a charity shop. Often grotesque metal bins covered with encouraging messaging (something in the line of “giving a second life to your garments” or “helping someone in need”), these collection boxes have become a guilt-clearing device to continue our shopping habits as usual. In other words, we clear out our wardrobes every few months (or with the change of seasons), get rid of everything we no longer want (often through donation), and free up space for new clothes. A cycle that keeps repeating itself over and over and over again.

The history of the secondhand clothing trade can be traced back to pre-industrial revolution. Surprisingly (or maybe not at all) it is extremely interconnected with colonisation. If we take Ghana as an example, the Twi (the name of one of many local languages) phrase “Obruni Wawu” translates to “Dead white man’s clothes” and is still used to refer to secondhand clothing1. It stems from a common assumption among the local community: these clothes arrive because the person wearing them has passed away (= a dead white man). Topics like overconsumption or an excess of clothing were not top of mind, especially as local dress was considered a family heirloom to be mended, repaired and passed on (practices many Global North countries practiced at some point, but lost on a large scale). The secondhand clothing trade in Ghana bloomed with colonial rule by the British as participating in society meant having to dress in “Western style.” After Ghana’s independence in 1957, the trade continued and was considered a respectable profession. A job you want to pass on to your children. But that is no longer the reality of today. What changed?

More is more, more more!

The past decades have had one common theme: more and faster. Applied to clothing this means: how can we produce more garments at a constantly faster pace? Well, we have to cut corners: go for lower-quality but cheaper materials, save time on the finishings and outsource to chase the lowest wages. As a result, garments can be sold at extremely low price points (that can never cover the cost of a fair production process) that inherently lowers the perceived value for the people buying them. We have all heard of the term fast-fashion, well we now also have to deal with ultra-fast fashion as well. Even more, and lower quality clothes enter the system. And when these clothes are no good to begin with, imagine in which state they arrive in Ghana.

I have only seen a fraction of the reality of what the community is dealing with, but already I came to understand that the situation only got worse since I last visited in 2023. Up to 50% of the bales’ content is considered unsellable. We are talking stained T-shirts, unwashed shirts, ripped tops, synthetic materials and very ugly unfashionable garments. The last point is important to highlight, as universally people wish to dress themselves in clothes they feel good in. It’s an extension of our own personality, how we present ourselves to the world.

With the belief that “donating our clothes is a deed of kindness/charity” there is also the idea that “anything goes.” They should just be happy with what they are given. But (this is a big but), secondhand clothing is no charity for the Kantamanto community, it’s a gambling game.

While we might donate our garments for free, once they enter the system they become a commodity with a price tag attached. Sorted, packed up and exported, the arrival of these mysterious bales can result in a vicious cycle of debt for the vendors purchasing them. Once bought and opened, returns are not possible, even not if the quality of the garments is visibly poor or lacking. A true disaster if you realise that the retailers have taken out loans to be able to buy a bale that is only putting them further in-debt.

So why do people keep doing it, if it’s not providing them with the financial security it used to? The same reason: a cycle of debt. The small gains from a bale are just enough to cover some basic running costs, but not enough to set themselves free from the financial burdens to start fresh. As Abena told me: If you don’t show up today, you have already lost tomorrow.

Fallen ill? You’ve lost. Need to take care of your children? You’ve lost. Dealing with family problems? You’ve lost. Wanting some time off to rest? You’ve lost again.

The retailers are conscious of what is going on. I spoke to a dozen people, the majority women, who have been retailers for decades, continuing a generational legacy. They express their concerns and worries differently, but it all echoes the same thing: the trade is not what it used to be. The prices of the bales keep increasing, while the quality is only declining. More competition and a saturated market only makes the trade harder. Even words, platforms like Vinted keep the best garments in circulation in Global North countries, resulting in the worst of the worst entering the international secondhand clothing trade.

For the first time, this generation of retailers does not want to pass on their profession to their children. On the contrary, they try to keep them away from dealings with “dead white men’s clothes” as much as possible.

While the burdens of this broken system should not all be shifted on consumers, we could hold ourselves accountable and reflect more on what we decide on buying and from whom (do I really really need this?). And when we do have to donate something (I would argue broken and stained clothes better go in the bin to avoid them ending on the beach here), you can ask yourself: would this make someone else happy? I am asking this question in the name of the retailers who I spoke with today: “Can you tell your people to stop sending us these bad clothes?” Not sure what reach I will have but at least I kept my promise: “Yes, I will tell them!” Will you?

Talk soon,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Accra, Ghana

LOCAL TIME: 21h30

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 30 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Land by Maggie O’Farrell

Hi there,

It’s been a whiiiiiiiileeeee (my last newsletter was over a year ago when I left Sumba, yikes). Writing newsletters has been so intertwined with my travels over the past years (that’s how it all started and why it stopped), that I could feel a certain “itch” about the fact that after a week in Accra, I hadn’t yet taken the time to write one. To be honest, I was overthinking it. While the newsletters really started as a way to share my experiences while travelling as if I am sending a long WhatsApp voice note (I have sent some solid podcast worthy ones), over the years I have given myself a little too much pressure in writing the “perfect” one. Probably a side effect of doing scientific research and having to always legitimise every single thing I write down. The beauty of “Greetings from,” is that I can literally write what I want, and only have to cite my own brain. And in that spirit, I wrote today’s edition.

Welcome back!

I visited Accra in March 2023 (newsletter part 1 and part 2, funny to check how I aged over the past four years, I am sure you all agree I didn’t …), as part of a project with IFM, my university for my Master’s and eventually PhD. We only visited for 5 days, but the trip was literally life changing. I had been following the Or Foundation, who hosted us, for a while and was obsessed with the work they were doing. The trip was a smack in the face, as the reality of the textile waste crisis was physically visible in front of my own eyes. Since, my research radically took a different direction. While the topic of long-lasting garments and reducing textile waste remained the same, my overarching lens was now grounded in critical consumption studies and environmental justice paradigms. In other words, instead of thinking “global one-size-fits-all solutions that we export to any nation,” I started thinking about “locally-responsive work that actually responds to community needs.”

Fast forward to today, October 2026, as a clearly different version of myself arrived in Accra. This version is wiser, emotionally stable and mature still confused, an emotional sponge, and only a little less naive.

Of course, these past three years have been incredibly insightful as I was able to dedicate most of my time to research. I cannot recount how many hours I have spent reading, writing, talking, (dreaming?) about my research. However, being once again confronted with the reality of things took me off-guard, even if I felt more prepared. The Foundation has grown exponentially since my last visit, so getting a grips of how it is organised today, and all the people involved has took up most of my time and energy. They are now spread across different locations, have over 200 staff members, and are doing an endless list of incredible projects and activations. So much going on, and my brain has literally been in overdrive since my arrival. My note book is full of scribbles, a Word document is constantly open to add new field notes, and as if that was not enough, I am blurting out even more thoughts in this newsletter (and I plan on writing a few more!). Thankfully, I was cordially invited to a beach clean up on the morning after my arrival. The perfect way to get out of my own head, and make a first concrete contribution to the Or’s work …

Tide Turners: a resilient and joyful community initiative

On my first day, I joined Tide Turners for a beach clean up. They are associated with the Or Foundation, and are in charge of ecosystem remediations. Every Tuesday the team of volunteers fights “the tide” by filling a truck with trash. Yes, a truck with trash. Let me repeat it one more time, there is so much trash on the beach, that it can fill up a truck (!!!). It is literally every where, on the sand, in the water, under the rocks, under the sand, in-between my toes (yikes).

After 3 hours of sweating under the hot Ghanaian sun to fill rice bags with the waste (the stairs we have to take up and down to the truck from the beach are not helping, neither does the fact that the trash is wet and thus extremely heavy), we had loaded over 25 000 kg into the truck’s trunk.

This is an insane amount of trash. The thing was though, that upon gazing over the beach a final time before leaving (aim = experience a proud moment of achievement), I swear we could have started again. The tide keeps bringing in plastic and textile waste, making it seem a never-ending story of clean ups. These tentacles of intertwined waste just keep coming, and coming and coming.

Yet, the community carries on, reliance fuelled by one clear desire: “we want our beach back.” Getting it back does require some back-breaking labour. I could not help but think, this is what waste colonialism actually looks like. The community members carrying these heavy bags up the stairs, with their bodies colonised by someone else’s waste. This image has been on an endless replay in my mind ever since.

I woke up sore the next day, even if the bags I carried upstairs were the lightest, and I took regular breaks from the squatting and walking. I felt exposed, and very white. With white I mean privileged. I have never had to do anything close to this kind of labour to protect my own living environment. At the utmost, I recently picked up two beer bottles in front of my door in Paris (I did a performative sigh during the process), but that’s about it.

It has really made me reflect a lot on what remediations take from the local community, and why these clean ups, outside of the “formal system,” are not taken more seriously. I admire the work they do, but want to refrain from romanticising it. As the latter risks clearing ourselves from guilt of lack of involvement. I feel guilt, quite a lot of it. Especially as I have the privilege to choose when this becomes my reality, and opt out again when I choose to leave. Not a luxury any of the Tide Turners have.

However, and what I guess I did learn over the past three years since first coming here, is that forcing myself down that rabbit hole is counterproductive. What is more productive on the other hand, is listening to what the people I meet here have to say. And how I could use my own privilege in a way that benefits them (which I say very humbly, as I am not seeing myself in any way as the saviour they have been waiting for).

So I am here on a holiday?

I initially thought that my residency would offer me a break (LOL). Well … it might end up being just that, but not particularly in the way I had anticipated.

• I get a break from Paris (still love you Paris, but why are oat milk lattes 7 euros now)

• I get to be in a new setting to reflect on where I want to go next in life (metaphorically speaking)

• It is a lovely reminder for me of this life-changing trip that set a new trajectory for my understanding of “circular fashion” and where that has brought me today (omggg full circle moment!).

• I get to learn lots and lots lots from all the people involved with the Foundation’s work (lucky me!)

These learnings, only from my first week, could literally fill a book. I went for a “Greetings from” newsletter format though, which hopefully gave you a first scoop of my experiences here so far.

More to come soon!

Take care,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Bali

LOCAL TIME: 16h00

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 35 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: The Colony by Annika Norlin

Hi there,

After a little break from my newsletters, as I've been spending much needed time at home with my family and friends, I'm back today with a very special edition of the Greetings From newsletter. After two wonderful years on Sumba island, I have decided to return home and finish my work with the Foundation. So today I am closing this incredible chapter of my life and writing my love letter to the island that I have been privileged to call home for the past two years.

Part 1: What brought me to the island

It is pure coincidence that I arrived in Sumba in the summer of 2022 for my two-month volunteer service. Due to circumstances, I had 5 months off between the end of my studies and the start of my final internship. As I didn't just want to travel around but also do something meaningful, I looked for charitable projects that made sense and that I could contribute to. Through the contact of a friend of a friend of mine (I guess chance would have it), I finally found the Sumba Hospitality Foundation (SHF) website and applied to volunteer with a focus on sewing and sustainability. To be honest, I had no idea about Indonesia, let alone Sumba. I had never traveled alone for so long, let alone outside of Europe. Nevertheless, I packed my bags and set off on a journey that would change the course of my life forever.

You could say it was love at first sight when I arrived on the island and got to know the way the foundation works. It gives hope to see how SHF has a lasting impact on the local community, and it is the students who have shaped my journey. I was 23 years old at the time, and since the students are between 17 and 24 years old, we only had a small age difference. But the difference in living conditions was striking, and the privileges I was born with and took for granted began to unravel before me: a quality education, a varied and healthy diet I grew up with, electricity without blackouts, drinkable water coming straight from the tap, financial stability and secure living conditions. Seemingly obvious things that are part of the basics of life, but it quickly became clear that not everyone takes these things for granted, especially not in Sumba. Had I ever questioned these things? Well, apart from the stereotypical images we are shown of “poverty” and “starving children in a faraway place”, no. Confronting this reality has debunked many myths, but also made me realize that such things are not a thing of the past, but part of our present time.

Two months flew by, but they left such a lasting impression on me that when I left the foundation, I knew one thing for sure: I would be back. And as you know, I kept my word and came back.

Part 2: What kept me on the island

When I arrived in July 2023, I felt a mixture of emotions: Joy, excitement, fear, curiosity and surprise as to whether I had made the right decision and what kind of experience I would have here I was hired as a sustainability manager, something the foundation hadn't done for a few years. This meant that there were a lot of projects to take care of. I still remember my first day in my office. I sat down, opened my notebook and thought: Where the H*** do I start? I decided to create a purchasing policy without single-use plastic to reduce the amount of plastic in the foundation, as there is no waste disposal facility on the island. It was interesting to present this vision to all departments and ask them how they could participate in the transition to zero waste (I can't describe it any other way), which earned me various nicknames: Madame Plastique, the plastic police or Miss Sampah (sampah = trash).

An important aspect of my role, although not the whole of it, was teaching. I developed my own “Mother Earth Philosophy” to teach the students a variety of topics to help them become critical thinking young adults who can respect each other and their environment. I've helped in the garden as I did as a volunteer, I've continued the sewing workshops by developing my own 1-year curriculum for the Housekeeping students and developing new products, I've worked on a strategy to engage the guests and staff in our mission, and most importantly I've spent a lot of time sorting trash. What I loved most about my job is the fact that I've been able to do so many practical things that I've seen have a direct impact. That's what I was looking for when I came to Sumba, a break from theorizing about change and being in the thick of it. So many staff made the trip memorable and motivated me along the way, but especially Ka Kini and Ka Vennie, who are part of my Sumba family.

From 2024, I also worked a lot on my PhD, and had an encounter that really changed the course of my time on the island: I met my Sumbanese Sister Asty. We immediately connected because we had thousands of topics in common: fashion, creativity, crafts, sustainability and women's empowerment. What I learned from her can't be summarized in a single newsletter, but it’s knowledge that can't be found in any book or taught at any college. Thanks to her willingness to open up her community of women weavers, my PhD became an expression of my values, my way of practicing activism and finding ways to fight global textile waste locally through upcycling.

The purity of the students, the openness of the community, the ikat weaving, the beautiful nature and the impactful work of the foundation kept me on the island for two years.

Part 3: What made me want to return home

And then the big question: if everything was so great, why did you leave? Simply put, my work was done. Yes, there were still so many things I could work on, improve and expand, but I felt that I had reached a point where I could accomplish so much in such a short time that I could leave the island on a high, knowing that things would continue in the good hands of others. It wasn't an easy decision, but it was the right one. I always told myself that I had to leave Sumba before I got tired of it, and that's exactly what I did. I've seen other expats stay too long, become isolated, frustrated and unable to enjoy the beauty of Sumba. It would have been a shame if I had ended up like that, so I decided to leave at a time when I could still be the best possible version of myself for the SHF Family.

Deep down, I've known it for a while: I want to go back home. However, it was difficult to admit this to myself, especially because I felt like I had to "save the world”. But how could I ever continue to make a difference if I'm not myself and I'm unhappy on a personal level. I also think it's important to realize how relative my importance is. Yes, I don’t doubt that I've had a positive impact on various levels, but I don’t want to stay on the island for the wrong reasons: selfishness and the idea that “they need me”. I want to use everything I've learned from this experience to go back home and contribute to change there, because there are so many things to do that, if done right, will ripple out to Sumba island.

I arrived on the island as Hestie and can return home as Ibu Bumi. Stay tuned for updates about the new chapter in my life, so much more to come!

Terima kasih Sumba, saya beruntung saya bisa tinggal di tanah marapu selama 2 tahun. Sampai Jumpa Lagi!

Ibu Bumi -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Belgium

LOCAL TIME: 10h35

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 20 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: White Teeth by Zadie Smith

Hi there,

Welcome back to Greetings From, which this time returns to an already familiar destination: Karaja. The occasion? The publication of my third scientific article (you can read the full version here), which summarizes a first part of my findings from the last two years. Today’s edition aims to break down my article into understandable parts to ensure that I can reach as many people as possible, regardless of whether they have a background in fashion or sustainability. My work can only make sense if people can understand it.

My PhD | What is the purpose of doing one?

Well, great question to get started with! It took me a while to believe that doing a PhD is actually valuable. I imagined myself sitting in a grey laboratory (including lab coat), writing away on my computer, doing tests, and delivering a 200 + page manuscript that would collect dust on shelves, never seeing the daylight. Indeed, what could ever be the purpose of something like this? Well I can assure you that this is not how my PhD has been going. Over the past two years I have been able to do transformative field research, meet with countless people, travel around, have life-changing exchanges, learn about different cultures, habits and customs, all while keeping a constantly evolving diary (both written and visual), so I can translate all of my impressions into articles (max 10 pages) that will each form a chapter of my final manuscript. Breaking down an enormous (and quite daunting) task into bitesize chapters. Besides the academic part, doing a PhD is requiring you to keep challenging yourself, your brain (especially!) and your mental ability to continuously stretch yourself into new understandings and perspectives.

A turning point in my “research” | What made me shift the focus of my work

When you ask people to define durability you mostly get something about “strength”, “quality” or “resistance”. Basically the idea that something can last lifetimes. But what if, in the case of garments and textiles, this might just be the problem? Let’s illustrate this with a clear example. Before garments enter the store, they are tested in laboratories to ensure their quality is sufficient. These tests include: pilling, tear strength, tensile strength and multiple washing cycles. Generally when these tests are performed on synthetic fibres, such as polyester, the results are very good. Why? Well they are a type of plastic (made from fossil fuels, yikes!) with the fabrics woven from fibres of infinite length (called filaments) making them very very strong. Natural materials such as cotton and silk often perform less good in these tests, as they are more fragile and have a shorter fibre length (think of a small cotton ball for example). Great! That’s easy you might think: Let’s focus on synthetic materials, lab results proof it, they will last the longest. But that’s not where the story ends.

When we went to Ghana in 2023 and visited the Kantamanto market (you can read my newsletters on that life-changing experience here and here) one statement kept coming back and really stuck with me: “We don’t want any polyester garments as they have no value to us”. This means that the garments that are described as “strong” or “durable” in the Global North are considered worthless in the regions where they most often end up after their first phase of use (mostly Global South countries). The result? These garments are not optimally integrated into the circular flows (such as reuse, repair, upcycling) and often end up in landfills or, even worse, in natural environments such as beaches. May I remind you that these materials are fossil fuel-based plastics that cause direct environmental pollution, including the release of microplastics into the waterways, which end up in the food chain and eventually in our bodies.

So yes great, polyester might perform well on durability tests in a laboratory, but what does that have to do with real life? Indeed, not much.

My New Article | Presented at the PLATE Conference in Aalborg, Denmark

For the past two years I have been busy with setting up the upcycling hubs in Sumba, as I already shared widely in my previous newsletters (have a look here and here). In parallel, I have also been conducting many interviews together with my.co-authors in 5 different regions. In total 73 participants answered garment durability related questions to get a global perspective through different communities. From France and Norway in the Global North to Ghana, Indonesia and South Africa in the Global South, we met with experienced professionals who are working as designers, upcyclers, resellers, activists or recyclers to get their points of view about garment durability.

Lasting on average around 45 minutes it soon became clear that every single person held so much knowledge and interesting perspectives that one article would not be enough to include them all. We thus chose different angles to approach the gathered data with. Last week a first article got published and I was able to present it at the PLATE Lifetime Conference in Aalborg, Denmark which was a wonderful way to connect with like-minded researchers and receive feedback on my own work. The article focuses on upcycling and how local approaches could be a solution for making garments last all across the globe. Upcycling was chosen because it came up so often during the interviews highlighting it as a possible solution for the global textile waste crisis. Today, I want to walk you through the article’s three key findings.

(1) Garment Durability is Dynamic | And not Something Static

Reflecting on the above revelation regarding the issue with linking garment durability to physical strength tests made us rethink its meaning in connection with (and not separate from) current real-life conditions. The reality is that Accra is still receiving over 15 million garments a week, often made of synthetic fibres by cheap ultra-fast fashion brands that don’t give the local community any opportunity to make a living from. When asking the participants about the meaning of garment durability, the aspect of change often comes up. It is even perceived as a key characteristic of durability, suggesting that transforming a garment’s appearance through remanufacturing or upcycling can make it last, rather than a physically strong garment resisting any type of change. Hence why, in the case of textiles and garments we argue that change is inherently part of durability’s meaning, and that it is an ongoing interaction between the garment and its changing environment(s) and user(s), enabling it to move through different life cycles via the practices of care, mending, and repair1.

Basically opposing the idea that we should make extremely strong garments to fix the fashion issue. When those garments are not worn (which in today’s age of overconsumption is often the case), investing in making them physically as strong as possible is practically useless. Am I saying we should go for cheaply made clothes? Not at all! My message here is: stop buying, start wearing.

(2) Materials Matter | Rethinking “Waste”

Most interviewees identified that upcycling involves working with textile “waste”. The concept of “waste” is something I don’t like to refer to, and rather go with the term discarded (or soon-to-be) discarded materials. This enhances the fact that while one person might consider a certain material worth discarding, someone else might still see value in it. Take a process like upcycling, which most often starts with a garment, drastically changing the approach compared to traditional design. These restrictions are often identified as enhancing the creative process. However, this comes with its limitations as upcycling low-quality garments and materials is deemed almost impossible, once again reinforcing the findings of the Kantamanto market community in Ghana: cheap synthetic and polyester materials have almost no (upcycling) value.

Another interesting view we got was this idea of “the right to upcycle”, meaning that at what point do we have the right to cut up a garment, that is still in a perfect condition, for upcycling purposes? The invested resources to do so, and generated waste from that process should be considered. Are the net impacts at the end positive?

(3) Locality influences Upcycling | It’s done differently everywhere

Thirdly, local conditions clearly influence the approach to upcycling. Across all regions upcycling means transforming a material into something else. However, how this is practically done and what the result will look like depends completely on the local conditions such as available skills, infrastructure, climate, culture and the product need. While someone in Paris might be using the same techniques as someone in South Africa, the outcome will be different, just as it should be to ensure it is appropriate for the local conditions.

Respondents argue that products are ideally upcycled in the communities or areas where they are worn, supporting economic localization. However, a small upcycling brand did mention the difficulty of keeping the local aspect in mind when sourcing similar-looking materials, mostly garments. This risks generating additional emissions due to shipping materials around.

The Conclusion | What to Retain and what You can Do!

Based on our findings we defined Local Upcycling as the following: a process in which materials and garments that are considered worth discarding in their current state are transformed into a product of higher value that is suitable for the local environment, eliminating the need for a new product.

Fiew quite the mouthful. Let me break it down. The upcycling process should start with materials that have already been, or soon will be discarded. Around those a design is created to transform them into products of higher value, suitable for the local environment in which they are made (or will end up). Most importantly, thanks to this upcycled product no new product has to be made. The latter is a point I really wish to stress as I hate seeing fashion brands add upcycled capsules to their collection, instead of using those pieces to replace others. We don’t need to add any new clothes, on the contrary, we should focus on slowing down and producing way way way less. Because if we cannot address the core of the issue, what are we doing then?

What can you do? Take the responsibility to educate yourself about the facts of the industry (start here and here), support NGO’s working on it (the Or Foundation’s Speak Volumes Campaign for example) and stop buying. The most sustainable garment is the one you already have in your wardrobe.

I hope you enjoyed this newsletter and look forward to hearing your thoughts!

Talk soon,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Singapore

LOCAL TIME: 18h45

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 30 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Isaac’s Song by Daniel Black

Hi there,

As the title of this newsletter already spoils it, yes: I have been two (2!!!) years in Sumba already. This experience has without a doubt left a lasting impact on me, but when I switch it around, what impact have I left on the island? Something worth reflecting on in today’s edition of Greetings From newsletter.

The start of my two-year journey | 03.07.2023

After a short two-month volunteering stint in the summer of 2022, my real Sumba adventure started on the 3rd of July 2023, after finishing my master’s degree in Paris. Although I definitely questioned my decision just before leaving, my gut told me, this is the right choice, Hester. For many, it was an unsurprising choice, especially as most had never even heard of Sumba. I always saw it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to contribute to an NGO I believe in, and get plenty of hands-on experience. I believed that if I took this challenge on as my first job, it would give me experiences I could never get from a junior position in Paris. So off I went on an adventure I could have never prepared for.

My role as a sustainability manager at the Foundation was both exciting and daunting. There hadn’t been anyone in that role since 2020, meaning I basically had complete freedom. Amazing, but also frightening. Where do I start? Complete freedom can often be limiting, how weird and contradictory that might sound. Within the range of ideas I had, I needed to find out what was my first priority, and what would make the most sense for Sumba. When I saw the amount of trash on the roads and beaches, I knew my answer, prohibit any single-use plastic at the Foundation.

And off I went on my mission to eradicate any type of single-use plastic in our organisation. I met with all departments and tried to figure out how we could first avoid it altogether. Think, reusable market bags made from old mosquito nets, bamboo toilet paper that comes in paper, not plastic, packaging, papaya stem straws that can be composted, no more plastic-bottled water (which we only had at guests’ request), reusable lunch boxes instead of single-use paper ones (which are a big scam because they contain plastic and are non-recyclable), and no plastic wrap in the kitchen.

Well, let me tell you, oh my goodness, did I make myself unpopular. Looking back now, with a way better cross-cultural understanding, it’s quite funny to think how I entered all these well-established departments with good intentions and tons of enthusiasm, only to be met by resistance. People were hesitant, will it be the same quality, why should we change something that’s working, what about the guests, and again, why are we actually doing this? Pfiew! What I failed to understand back then is that Indonesian culture is very hierarchical, not only in terms of titles, but also age and gender. A young white girl trying to make all these changes only a few weeks after arriving was, let’s just say, unexpected.

From this initial resistance I learned to approach people differently, listen more and preach less, and take it slowly, step by step. In the end, all the above-mentioned changes were implemented, and are still there two years later, with most people wondering, why didn’t we do this earlier?

Teaching sustainability | A journey to create my Ibu Bumi Philosophy

One of my key responsibilities was to create a full-year curriculum for the students’ weekly sustainability class. An amazing challenge, as my earlier focus was mainly on sustainable fashion, but now I had to tackle wider issues like climate change, conservation, biodiversity, circularity, and community engagement.

As we are a hospitality school, I started with an angle of responsible tourism, and how we can be a role model to put this idea into action, making better places for people to visit, and better places for people to live in. I developed a 6C’s framework, Climate, Conservation, Circularity, Community, Culture, and Commerce. The idea is that when these are all in balance, we have a responsible approach to tourism. They also became the red thread for my classes, with a dedicated module for each C.

Learning how to teach has been such an amazing experience. I realized how passionate I am about the topic, while also realizing the power education has. Until this point, I had really taken my high-quality education for granted. When you start teaching young adults between 17 and 23 years old who have no clue about world geography, question whether the world is round (yes, really!), have never heard about climate change, and don’t realize that plastic is made from oil, you better be creative.

I’ve had so many “aaaah!”, “teacchheerrrr!”, “no wayyy!”, “omg I had no idea!” moments over the years. I’ve also seen many confused faces, which always pushed me to explain it better next time. Each class became a school for me, too, learning how to break down complex topics for English-learning students. Body language saved me, doing small dances to explain how the Earth turns around the sun, and around itself, drawing the blanket of greenhouse gases around Earth, showing hundreds of videos for those who struggle with words and learn better visually.

Since arriving, I have taught 190 students, who eventually all turned into my teachers. I’m aware they won’t remember everything I told them (I mean, who actually listens to their teacher all the time?), but I always tell them, in all of the things we learned, find one thing you are really passionate about, and try from the moment you leave SHF to do something for it. Maybe it’s plastic pollution and you do trash walks on your days off, or you love animals and get involved with animal rights, or maybe the module on human rights sparked an interest in labour rights and you start organizing at work. What I want is for my students to turn into critical young adults, open-minded and respectful of their environment and all living beings in it, especially in the fractured world we live in today.

Sewing my way through it all | Upcycling more than I could have ever imagined

And how could I not talk about the upcycling hub? My favourite project ever, which has kept evolving ever since I started with three machines in a tiny room back in 2022.

Now, Ibu Lusia is working half-time for us, mastering any project I give her and even teaching the students. The fact that she became our teacher gives me immense pride, and is the only way you can claim a project to be sustainable, run by locals, for locals. Seeing her teach our students, who call her mom (I mean…), has literally brought me to tears. Even trying to write down how it feels is difficult. I just know I was able to teach her, give her a job, and ensure she is now employed half-time, receives healthcare, has her own bank account, and earns a fair wage to support her family and three children.

Beyond that, we’ve upcycled thousands of products, without purchasing a single fabric. We just used everything we had. From broken bed linen and mosquito nets, to old uniforms, stained napkins, and towels. You name it, we upcycled it! The remoteness of Sumba really stimulated my creativity and pushed me not to go for the easy way out.

The magic of seeing the students using a sewing machine for the first time is priceless, and brings me back to when I did for the very first time when I was nine years old (you can read more about it in my previous newsletter).

And what kind of impact has my stay left on the island? | A reflection

Answering this question myself feels a bit out of place, and can only leave me guessing about the impact I’ve made on the students, staff, volunteers, guests, people I met along the way, and of course Ibu Bumi, the environment I’ve been living in. I can only hope it’s been a positive one. The purity and joy the students have is something that has impacted me for good, just like the joy of taking your time for things. Living in fast-paced cities makes you feel like you should always be in a rush, but island life looks at this differently. Good things take time, and thinking twice before acting has definitely paid off for me, taking it slow, being conscious, and asking others for their advice.

Impact is often translated into numbers, variables we can easily compare. Trying to do that for the experience I’ve had here over the past years is clearly impossible. I just know that these two years have been crucial on so many levels, while being extremely challenging, too. If you want to get to know yourself, become independent, and discover your limits, there’s no better place to go than a remote island like Sumba.

I’ve experienced some of the most intense moments of my life so far, both good and bad. Homesickness hits hard when you least expect it, and eating rice twice a day cannot be called a healthy diet (lol). My key takeaway, though, would be, balance. Balancing time for myself and time with others. Balancing listening to understand and acting to learn. Balancing not being affected by others’ opinions, and remaining open-hearted to feel, including the harder things. Balancing commitment to my job and career with my personal life. And honestly, the latter balance has definitely been off, not enough time spent with family and friends. So that’s something I want to work on now, heading home for the summer after too long.

So while I’m doing my PhD on sustainable fashion with my university in Paris, I feel like the real PhD I’ve been doing over the past two years is one at the university of life, and the value of that is priceless.

Talk soon,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 22h20

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 25 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar

Hi there,

Today’s newsletter was written spontaneously and quite unexpectedly after coming back from my last sewing session (for now) with the weavers. I’ve been visiting them since January 2024, learning little by little about the intricate weaving process by spending time with them in their village. Since then, I’ve been fortunate enough to share my passion with them: sewing! And as I’m going home at the end of the month (finally!), a cycle of incredible exchanges and learnings is coming to an end. So I thought, that’s worth writing a newsletter about.

Where it all started | A tribute to my grandma

I started sewing at the age of 9, together with my grandmother Agnes. I had shown interest in it for a while and had already managed to create a few small things by hand, but I really wanted to learn how to use a machine. My grandmother was very good at sewing, and since we didn’t have a machine at home, we planned my very first class at her house using her old one. We had one mission: teaching me how to sew.

I clearly remember that day, my mom picked me up from primary school and we stopped by the local sewing store (I didn’t even know we had one in beautiful Wevelgem, and neither did my mom, who never sews). I chose a white cotton fabric with pink and blue feathers on it. My project? A dress for my doll. Although I arrived in the late afternoon and we planned to start the class the next day, she called me into the kitchen after dinner: “Heesstteeeerrr, come heeerrreee, let’s already give it a try now.” And that’s where it all started, I pushed the pedal, sewed my first straight lines (let’s say they were quite straight for a first time) , and got hooked. Sixteen (!) years later, and I still love it.

Luckily for me, my parents have always been very supportive of my creative projects. For my 10th birthday, I got a sewing machine, a very simple one, but what a joy to receive it! I had my own sewing workshop (this was literally the small storage room where you could hardly stand up, see image above), I gradually continued learning new techniques, made accessories, clothing, gifts, and eventually learned proper tailoring skills during my bachelor’s. My internship sparked my interest in sewing sustainably, and that’s how I began developing my own upcycling techniques through patchwork, old garments, and repurposed materials. And I guess that’s how I ended up doing what I’m doing today.

Sharing the joy of sewing | One stitch at a time

And now here I am, sharing my passion with others. I first started doing sewing workshops for the NGO Reprise in Paris, where we ran upcycling sessions in a refugee center. I instantly fell in love with teaching, and it inspired me to keep doing it, always looking for ways to improve (as a teacher, you’re actually the one learning the most). Fast-forward to my volunteering experience in Sumba, where the SHF students were extremely motivated to master sewing techniques.

Since returning, I’ve developed a proper lesson plan and curriculum, teaching them all the basic techniques while focusing on an upcycling approach, the same approach I’ve used with the weavers of Karaja since January. They’ve been so quick to learn and incredibly talented. It’s amazing to teach someone how to use a sewing machine for the first time. I recognize my own excitement mixed with a little anxiety: “Will I mess it up?”, “Oh, too fast!”, “Nooo, I didn’t manage to go straight!”, “Oh no, where did my thread go?” Different parts of the world, different generations, but the same curiosity to master sewing skills.

Learning to be a teacher | One project at a time

From every project, class, and exchange, I learn something new that I can integrate into the next one. The key thing I’ve learned in Sumba is: “make do with what you have.” There are no fabric stores, not a wide range of trims, and no easy access to online orders. So you’re “forced” to create something from what’s available. These “limitations” really pushed me to sew outside the box, repurposing materials I would have otherwise never even looked at (yikes). We judge something as “waste” way too quickly.

I recently turned my well-worn vintage Levi’s jeans into a skirt after they ripped. An old striped shirt became shorts and a scrunchie. Old bedlinen was dyed with mahogany bark and transformed into a reversible, one-of-a-kind jacket. And when I wonder, “How are my actions having an impact?”, I can only think, by sharing my ideas and passion about upcycling, little by little, I’m creating a community of committed upcyclers. And together, we can have an impact that is felt.

With my long-awaited trip home fast approaching now (leaving on the 27th of June!), I can’t wait to share all my stories with my grandma. I love taking my new creations to her so she can check them, waiting for her approval (my heart always skips a beat) when she looks up and tells me, “Great job Hester, it’s beautiful.” I have her talent running through my veins, and just like she was so open to sharing it with me, I’m now passing it on to others. Another full-circle moment.

Lots of love,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 18h23

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 30 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: It’s okay to be angry about capitalism by Bernie Sanders

Hi there,

I hope you’re all taking good care of yourselves in these deeply disturbing times. Genocides are happening across the world, and while they may seem “far away,” I can feel their impact even here in Sumba. There are no words to describe the extreme and senseless loss of human life that has marked recent decades, and now culminates in today’s horrific events. Watching from the sidelines has left me sad, paralyzed, and confused. What can I do?

Writing helps. So does speaking out, publicly voicing my outrage at the cowardice of European nations, not to mention the role of the U.S. in building wealth on the backs of innocent civilians, including thousands of women and children. Of course, none of this is new. It’s history repeating itself, yet again.

So what is there still to save? So much.

I recently spent three incredible days with the weavers in Sumba, growing ever closer to Asty, my Sumbanese sister, who like me, is driven by justice, education, and conservation. Asty has been dedicated to protecting her island home for over a decade, through her grassroots initiatives English Goes to Kampung and Karaja Sumba. I’m lucky enough to stay at her home during visits, where her mother’s homemade food always makes me feel deeply welcome.

Asty and I like to rise early for beach walks or swims. This time, she took me to the area where she’s been planting mangroves. I had heard her mention it before, but had no idea of its scale. Just a short walk from the beach, we followed a muddy path, and suddenly, there it was: an enormous stretch of land, further than I could see, filled with neatly planted baby mangroves. I met one of her two “mangrove guardians,” whom she employs to care for the trees daily. These are native mangroves, chosen specifically to restore this fragile ecosystem.

Why Mangroves Matter | Nature’s climate solution

I’ve been teaching my students about mangroves for the past two years, and they never cease to fascinate me. These unique trees survive in harsh conditions, salty water and changing tides, protecting coastlines from erosion and storms through their complex root systems. They can store up to four times more carbon than tropical rainforests, and serve as nurseries for young fish, bringing economic benefits to local fishing communities. And, of course, they’re beautiful, offering potential for responsible tourism.

Yet, like so many natural systems, they are under threat. Across Southeast Asia, mangroves have been widely cleared for aquaculture, especially shrimp farming. But Indonesian fishermen are beginning to realize that by removing the trees, their ponds collapse, literally and economically.

Grow Mangroves, Green Sumba

Asty has long warned that Sumba is highly vulnerable to the effects of climate change—especially its coastal communities. The island’s indigenous belief system, Marapu, teaches balance and reverence for the sacred in all living things, including trees. Guided by this wisdom, Asty envisioned a green protective belt of mangroves in Mananga near Kerewe beach (Desa Patiala Bawa) located on the Southern coast of the island.

This area is under intense pressure. In just two years, I’ve seen it change, from a quiet beach with a single restaurant to a budding tourism hub filled with new construction. And while investment brings opportunity, it also threatens biodiversity and leads to land loss for local communities. You may have seen what overtourism has done to Bali, straining its ecosystems, damaging its culture, and causing a massive waste crisis and water shortages. Now, as tourism expands to Flores, Lombok, and also Sumba, the time to act is now.

Rooted in Nature | Help Us Plant 50,000 Mangroves

Standing barefoot in the Sumbanese mud, surrounded by thousands of young mangroves, I felt the true meaning of a grassroots movement. This project is 100% locally led and exists for the local community. I felt its impact just being there, and I can already picture the beautiful forest it will become in a few years.

The care, love, and persistence that has gone into each planted mangrove tree is profound. It reminded me that the only way to transform our broken system is to deconstruct it, by choosing to invest our time, energy, and resources in regenerating nature, uplifting our communities, and nurturing ourselves.

If you’ve made it this far, I would love to invite you to support our goal of planting and protecting 50,000 mangroves. To do so, we’re aiming to raise $15,000 USD covering the project’s operational cost for the next three years.

Every single contribution counts. I hope you join us, donating can be done through this link!

Take care and talk soon,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 7h23

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 30 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Red Clay by Charles B Fancher

Hi there!

I’m back, and quite proud of the regular writing rhythm I’ve kept over the past few months. Honestly, with so many things going on, writing has felt like a way to reflect and release. Between the million projects at the Sumba Hospitality Foundation, the growing activities at the upcycling hub, and working on my next PhD article, I still want to make time for these newsletters.

Today’s edition is an ode to Sumba, and the “fresh eyes” I’ve recently had for the island, thanks to the arrival of some new (and familiar) faces.

Going around the island | Selamat Datang Babsie and Senne!

I’m soooo lucky that so many of my friends and family have come to visit — often traveling a long way to see what my life in Sumba is really like. This week, I’ve been fortunate to welcome Babette (hello Babsie!), a childhood friend I hadn’t seen in almost two years. She’s been traveling around Bali with her boyfriend, and decided to save the best for last: Sumba.

On Monday, we did a full-day tour to explore the island’s beauty, both its nature and culture. We started by heading west, toward the Kodi area. It’s one of the most unspoiled parts of the island, but also the region most affected by poverty. Rain is scarce, and the dry, rocky landscape makes agriculture very difficult. The roads are still good enough to explore though, and we ended up at Pero Beach, where you can discover the mangroves (and crocodiles!) by boat with one of the local fishermen. A really special experience that reveals a whole different side of the island.

On the way back, we stopped at a traditional village, probably one of the most authentic ones left, where houses are still built without a single nail (don’t ask me how they manage that). The high-roof houses have three levels: the lowest is for animals, the middle for people, and the top for storing the harvest. The higher the roof, the higher the social status, and the closer you are to your ancestors. While walking through the village, we quite literally stumbled over century-old tombstones, wondering how on earth people managed to build these. Ando later explained they have a special technique using ropes and sticks, with the help of all the village men.

We continued to Weekuri Lake, one of the island’s iconic spots. I’ve been there many times, but it remains magical, crystal-clear water perfect for a refreshing swim. Before heading back, we stopped at a hidden little lake, and wrapped up the day in the hills, hoping to catch the sunset. No sunset, but a full moon instead (we got quite an impressive picture …). Babette and Senne tried the famous GG pizza, which, as I had warned, tastes better the longer you stay on the island (my 2 months vs. their 2 days probably influenced their verdict). And a beautiful day full of exploring came to an end. My guiding skills were approved off, and I must say I had wonderful guests <3.

So what do you think of Sumba? | A tricky question

After two weeks in Bali, they were already a bit used to Indonesian culture. But upon arriving in Sumba, they were struck by how different the two islands are. And it’s true: because of its remote location, Sumba feels like a different world, with its Marapu animist traditions still very present. The poverty stands out, with hardly any development beyond some small kiosks in front of people’s homes.

And what do I think about Sumba? Having been here for nearly two years now (June will mark 2-years here!!!), I’ve become used to this reality. I see it every day, and I hear the stories of our students. “What’s it like to hear and feel those stories, for example during a student home visit?” Hmm… a hard question to answer.

Lately, I’ve felt a sort of heaviness, difficult to put into words. If I had to describe it, I’d say it’s like a small jar slowly being filled drop by drop. One story, one encounter, one conversation at a time. And over the past few weeks, quite a few drops have fallen in. It’s as if the jar is about to overflow, and yes, quite literally, with tears welling up at random moments. It’s a blessing, I believe, to feel so deeply connected to what’s happening around me. It helps me build meaningful relationships with the students. But it also means opening myself up to a certain vulnerability, a risk of being too affected (if that’s even a thing).

“When will my Sumba chapter end?” is a question I’ve been asked many times this week. And my answer? I am not sure, and I don’t need to be just yet.

Like an intricate ikat tapestry, the process takes time, patience, and love. From growing the cotton and hand-spinning the threads, to foraging natural dyes, setting the pattern, and finally weaving it on the loom. One thread at a time. That’s how my Sumba story will further unfold as well. And so, without rushing, I’ll let things fall into place.

Talk soon,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 22h30

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 24 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Things fall apart by Chinua Achebe

Hi there!

I hope you are all well and safe, the latter a privilege these days looking at what’s going on in the world. Things are falling apart (coincidentally the title of the book I am currently reading by Chinua Achebe), and it’s overwhelming. Upon discussing this with someone, they told me “It might be the opportunity to rebuild things better”. Let’s hope it is. The past weeks in Sumba, since combing back from Nepal, have been packed! Packed with projects, events, books, writing, working and most over joy. All these separate things came down to the same idea: think globally act locally.

Think Globally, Act Locally | Fashion Revolution Week 2025

As mentioned in my previous newsletter that took us to KARAJA, last week was Fashion Revolution Week, with the year theme “Think globally, act locally”. This could have not been a better fit with the projects I have been working on over the past year. The idea is to tackle issues locally, with and for the community who best understands what they need. Connecting these communities, and how certain solutions can be replicated (with needed adoptions for them to be appropriate of course), turns the local into something global. This is the complete opposite of globalization which is driven by mass-production (and thus mass-consumption) and homogenization (everything looking the same, “one size fits all”). We can all learn from one another, hierarchies are not natural, but a construct made by human “we and them”, “better and lower”, “more valid and invalid”, “western science and native science” …

For this edition of Fashion Revolution Week, we focused on education. We did daily posts on our Karaja Upcycling Hub page, covering various themes from Earth Day, to the Rana Plaza disaster back in 2013 when 1134 garment workers died and over 2500 were injured after a garment factory collapsed. Living waves were also covered, just as the work of the Or Foundation (which I was able to visit in Ghana, read my story here and here) and inspirational business models like Pable Indonesia which recycles textiles and involves local communities in the process through job creation and education.

Think Globally, Act Locally | Upcycling with Karaja

No better way to spend Fash Rev Week than by upcycling. On Monday and Tuesday I went back to the weavers to continue our upcycling classes. This was my 5th time there since starting in January, facilitating over 60 hours of classes in total and it has been such a joy! This past session felt special, as if something clicked, both for Ibu Yuli, Ibu Anas, Kaka Rabu and Kaka Yuli, but also for me. I have learnt so much from taking it slow. Rushing things doesn’t get you far, but by patiently considering, asking, listening, going back to an idea and letting it evolve does change things. Asty has been so important in this whole process, and I am proud I have been able to develop my work in co-creation with the weavers’ community.

We created some fun patchwork posters "with the slogans “I upcycled your clothes” and “Think Globally, Act Locally”, continued our zigzag patchwork and introduced a beautiful new pouch, adding another skill to their range. I also taught them an introductory class about Fashion Revolution, slowly planting some seeds about sustainable fashion and what that can concretely mean to them.

Think Globally, Act Locally | Teaching Ibu Bumi Philosophy & Upcycling

This past week was really all about education, as I turned Saturday into a Sustainable Fashion day for my SHF students. The morning class introduced them to the basics of sustainable fashion, mostly by uncovering its dirty secrets. We talked about garment workers, their devastating working conditions and the consequences of ultra fast fashion drive by social media platforms like TikTok. I heard a lot of gasps, wide open eyes, “oh my god teacher” and tons of questions.

They were fascinated by the hard facts of the industry, and appealed by how harmful it is for people and planet. I am sure it’s their ancestral roots that are still strongly connected to textiles, weaving and sustainability sparking their interest. In the afternoon we did a fun sewing workshop where they could make their own keychain of leftover textiles, or help create zero-waste baskets from old school uniforms. Very low-key, no pressure, just slowly stitching up a small souvenir from SHF they can hold onto. Slow is impactful, especially in an era where “time is money”. In fact taking your time in itself is an act of resistance.

Think Globally, Act Locally | Connecting with Nia

The past weeks have also brought a very nice encounter with Nia, who is originally from Waikabubak, a small city around 1 hour from SHF. She has quite an extraordinary story as she secured herself a full scholarship to study at Colombia University’s Teachers College for two years. She has been back for almost a year now and is dedicated to give back to her community. She wrote a beautiful illustrated children’s book about the Spirit of Sumba, and not forgetting about your roots: Cerita Meri (meaning: Meri’s story). She is planing on turning it into a series, and I hope we can create its next edition with a focus on conservation. Over the past weeks she has been going around schools sharing the book, giving teacher trainings and connecting with Sumba’s next generation. I invited her to teach a class at SHF to inspire our students that anything is possible. Seeing a role model that looks like you, is what actually makes you believe big things are possible for you as well. She shared about her journey and let the students create their dream maps which they shared with their friends.

How am I thinking and Acting?

Acting locally is something Sumba taught me. I came from an educational system where there is a lot of talking, conceptualizing and designing, but not a lot of doing. In Sumba you don’t have that choice and learning mostly happens while doing. It’s been a liberation to do so, and to see the impacts of the work you in real life. Moreover, when thinking of what’s going on across the globe (I don’t want to think too much about it because I cannot grasp the devastation of the multiple ongoing genocides), I can at least root myself locally here in Sumba. I hope and am sure, many other people are doing the same across the globe: acting locally. Because while some in power (hello white male leaders) might (they surely do) underestimate us, it are their systems that are now falling apart, and we are ready to rebuilt them for the better. Rise and resist for collective liberation.

Talk soon!
Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 22h15

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 24 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: A woman is a school by Céline Seaman

Hi there,

The second time this newsletter travels to Karaja, it comes with a focus on natural dyes. In the first edition (you can read it [here] if you haven’t already), I reflected on an interesting report by Fashion Revolution India, exploring how craft can be a climate-positive solution. In line with that approach, I wanted to dive deeper into the power of natural dyes, especially in an age where chemical ones have become the norm.

This week we are celebrating Fashion Revolution Week, which each year happens around the 24th of April. Why? In 2013 on that exact date Rana Plaza, a garment factory in Bangladesh, collapsed and 1134 garment workers died. The NGO was founded after the incident to transform the fashion industry for the better. The theme this year is “Think Globally, Act Locally”, perfectly in line with what we are trying to do with the local upcycling hubs, hopefully one day creating a global network.

Natural dyes in Sumba | An ancient tradition kept alive through generations

I had heard of natural dyeing before coming to Sumba and even tried my hand at it with beetroot and onion skins (hi fellow fashion students, haven’t we all been there?). But I had never witnessed the process the way it’s meant to be: in real life, rooted in tradition. One of the core missions of Kaka Asty, the founder of Karaja Sumba, is to keep the knowledge of natural dyeing alive. Why? Because these are skills passed down from generation to generation, unwritten, taught by touch, feeling, and intuition.

The risk is: when the younger generation loses interest or access to this knowledge, it slowly fades away. Just as naturally dyed garments do. Asty saw this knowledge slipping, and decided to act. Today, all Karaja ikat is dyed using natural materials. So how does that actually work?

Sourcing natural dyes | Thank you, Ibu Bumi

When I first met Asty, I remember how passionately she spoke about not pushing Mother Earth. I told her my favourite colour is blue and that I loved her indigo-dyed ikats. She explained how indigo is one of the most difficult, and therefore expensive, colours to produce. It’s seasonal and can’t be harvested year-round.

The same goes for many other colours, which are extracted from tree bark, wood, leaves, or a mix of various sources. Since reviving these practices, the range of colours has grown more vibrant and diverse. Most recently, the weavers added a stunning green, widely agreed to be the most difficult colour to achieve, requiring a blend of several different plants.

It’s a time-intensive process: materials must be foraged from the forest, prepared, boiled, dyed, and then fixed. At Karaja, they use a powder made from corals to fix the colours. Who would’ve thought? This ensures the colours don’t fade when the fabric is washed.

Redyeing as a way to make garments last | My work in action

Beyond dyeing yarns, the Karaja community also offers to dye old textiles and garments, a perfect example of garment durability in action. By changing the colour, garments can be given a second life. A white shirt turned greyish? A stained favourite you still want to wear? Dye it.

Since moving to Sumba, I’ve re-dyed a dozen of my garments. I’m always so happy with the results. They get a new chance, increase personal attachment and show that nature has all the answers we are looking for. Essentially, my work on finding ways to make garments last in action.

Water Pollution | Also a Harsh Reality in Indonesia

“I can see what will be the trending colour of next season by the colour of the river.”

This quote, commonly heard near garment factories, says a lot. For many years local communities in the Global South have witnessed multi-coloured rivers, as a result of effluent from the dyeing and processing of clothes for global clothing brands1. Rivers running red, blue, or neon pink are a visible result of unchecked chemical dyeing. In many places, factories either don’t follow water treatment protocols or there are no standards in place at all, resulting in widespread pollution.

Greenpeace has published dozens of reports on the negative impacts the fashion and textile industry have on the many communities in the Global South (of which Indonesia is one). Their work is vital in ensuring these injustices are brought to light, holding companies and governments accountable. And ourselves, because we can also choose to buy less new garments, be more critical of what brands we buy them from, influence brands and question governments.

Pollution is colonialism | Why should we tolerate pollution?

Today, you can buy the threads to weave Ikat in every colour imaginable. It’s easy, affordable, and offers colour ranges that natural dyes can’t always achieve. This convenience has led weavers in Sumba to switch to synthetic, ready-made dyes.

But the difference is striking. Naturally-dyed ikat carries a subtle, earthy aroma. This benefits our skin, which is our body’s largest organ, and is constantly in contact with what we wear. If our clothes are dyed with chemicals, that’s what our pores absorb. While research is still evolving, some studies suggest chemical dyes can harm our health, causing skin issues, and even impacting fertility.

And of course, the environmental impact is immense. Fashion Revolution2 reports that over 8,000 chemicals are used in the fashion manufacturing process. Many companies don’t disclose which ones, or how they manage the resulting waste. So who decides what’s a “safe” level of pollution?

That’s what Max Liboiron questions in their book Pollution is Colonialism. Why is “10 particles per litre” deemed safe, and “11” not? These thresholds can be used to justify permissible pollution. In other words, giving organizations the right to pollute. It’s rooted in the colonial view that land is a resource, something humans can control, extract from, or “manage.” Liboiron writes: “Resources refer to unidirectional relations where aspects of land are useful to particular, colonial ends.” We take and take, and forget to give.

A reminder to be mindful of how I approach my work, especially within research frameworks shaped by colonial history, where the default is to “observe the other.” Rather than getting caught up in graphs and methodologies that don’t consider the specific context I live in, I want to embrace the natural rhythms of Mother Earth. To deeply learn from the Sumbanese people who have been practicing these traditions for centuries.

What I keep coming back to is this: in order to move forward, we may need to look back. Learning from our ancestors might just be the most powerful way to safeguard our future.

Lots of love,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Chitwan, Nepal

LOCAL TIME: 22h48

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 25 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Survival is a Promise by Alexis Pauline Gumbs

Hi there,

After my first newsletter on the beautiful Nepal, which focused on our visit to Kathmandu, today’s edition explores another side of the country, one that let us experience its natural splendor.

After spending three days in the capital, we made our way to Pokhara, located in central Nepal. It’s mostly known for its proximity to the Annapurna Circuit, a famous trekking route in the Himalayas. No Himalayan trails for us this time, but we did get the chance to unwind and surround ourselves with nature.

Spending the Night like a Local | A Homestay High in the Mountains

After arriving in the city, grabbing a quick lunch, and visiting a nearby waterfall and holy cave, we left the main road and headed up into a mountain village. More and more locals have opened their homes to travellers, both domestic and international. The homestay we stayed at has been welcoming guests for over 12 years. The host family was incredibly warm, and we felt lucky to spend the night with them.

Although the weather was misty, it was easy to imagine what a breathtaking view they must wake up to on clear mornings. In the evening, we enjoyed traditional music and dance, followed by a thali dinner, a bit like Indonesia’s nasi campur: rice with a variety of small dishes. Everything was freshly made, nourishing, and delicious, especially the lentil dahl. For breakfast, we had buckwheat pancakes with homemade honey, which gave us the energy we needed for our boat trip and hike to a holy stupa.

Reflecting with a View | The Mountain Lodge

Personally, I felt less connected to what I saw in Pokhara. The city’s growth was driven largely by the popularity of Himalayan trekking, which makes it feel a little more “artificial” and less authentic. After spending most of our time in cities, this very touristy place, filled with shops selling China-made souvenirs (such a pity, knowing how skilled the local artisans are), felt overwhelming. That’s why we were happy to escape to Tiger Mountain, a lodge that’s part of the Regenerative Travel community (just like Maringi Sumba, the SHF hotel).

Upon arrival, it felt like stepping back in time. Opened in 1998, the lodge was one of the first in the region. Its old-school hospitality is charming and makes you feel instantly at home. Though we weren’t blessed with clear weather and missed the famous views, the experience was a much-needed break.

I was also lucky enough to meet Nina Karnikowski, a travel writer I’ve followed for a while and was staying in the same hotel. We shared stories from our travels, her writing, and the retreat she had just hosted in Nepal. She visited Sumba a few years ago, and who knows, a new retreat may be in the works for October this year (fingers crossed!).

Moving South | A visit to Chitwan National Park

After two nights at the lodge, we set off on a four-hour drive to Chitwan, the gateway to one of Nepal’s national parks and its lush rainforest. Our stay couldn’t have started better: we went on a boat safari to explore the local wildlife. We were lucky enough to spot a rhino, many birds, a deer, and crocodiles, all while enjoying the peaceful silence of floating down the Rapti River. Watching the sunset from the riverbank was the perfect way to end the day.

The next morning, we went on a full safari in the national park, guided by a skilled local ranger. We spent the whole afternoon carefully following the carved path. We stopped regularly to spot birds, monkeys, deer, wild chicken (who would have thought) peacocks and rhinos. First from far, then a bit closer and eventually a mom and baby a few meters away from us. Spending so much time in nature over the past week reminded me of why it’s worth fighting for our Mother Earth and that all living beings on it may live in peace and happiness.

Nepal turned out to be the perfect choice for a trip with my parents. We found a beautiful balance of culture, nature, activity, and much-needed rest. Being apart for so long made this reunion extra special, and what better way to reconnect than by discovering a new country together?

One of the waiters at the mountain lodge asked me, “Madam, you’ve been here a while, right? In Napa?” I smiled and said, “Actually, no, I just arrived a few days ago, this is my first time here.” He looked at me and said: “You’ll be back.” And yes, I think I will.

Thank you, Nepal!

Talk soon,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Pokhara, Nepal

LOCAL TIME: 15h20

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 29 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Survival is a Promise by Alexis Pauline Gumbs

Hi there,

New week, new destination, new newsletter! And what a destination… After many years on my bucket list, I finally made it: Nepal. During my solo trip in 2023, I had the chance to visit the incredible Bhutan (read my newsletters on that trip [here] and [here]). Its culture, monasteries, people, food, nature, and deeply spiritual presence left a lasting impact on me. While I was there, I kept hearing amazing things about Nepal, and I knew I had to visit one day. And here we are!

WE, because unlike my solo trip back then, this time I’m not alone. At Singapore Airport, I reunited with two very familiar faces, my dear mom and dad. After 11 (never again!) and 4 months apart, it was both surreal and completely real to see them again. And it felt so familiar.

Arrival in Kathmandu | A Great Start to the Week

We were warmly welcomed by our guide for the week, Kampana, whose calm and serene presence immediately made us feel at ease. She seemed like the perfect person to introduce us to her home country. We had chosen a tour that blends culture and nature, starting in the capital city, Kathmandu. Since we arrived late at night, it wasn’t until the next day that we got our first glimpses of the city.

Exploring Sacred Sites | One Surprise After Another

Our first stop was an ancient royal palace that has been transformed into the Patan Museum, home to stunning pieces of traditional sacred art. We were immediately blown away by the beauty of the buildings and their intricate wood carvings. Kampana explained the meaning behind the decorative elements, these were not just ornaments, but deeply symbolic pieces.

We also learned about the origins of Buddhism and Hinduism, and how both religions coexist in Nepal. From there, we made our way to a small hidden temple, one we would have never found on our own. Afterward, we enjoyed a delicious lunch overlooking Durbar Square before continuing our journey by rickshaw, Nepal’s traditional bicycle transport. That meant we were the lucky ones in the back while a local driver, whose leg strength remains a mystery to me, pedaled us through the bustling streets.

We ended the day on a literal high: Bhagawan Pau, an incredible stupa perched on a hilltop. To reach it, you normally need to climb 365 steps, but we took the easy way and walked down instead. The breathtaking view was shared with hundreds of monkeys, making for a truly unforgettable experience.

On our second day in the city we discovered more temples and sacred sites, saw a beautiful stupa close by and visited a school where they teach young girls how to paint the intricate mandalas. We tasted their traditional yoghurt while walking the small streets of the dense city, falling from one surprise to the other, hidden gems everywhere.

The Small Details | Patiently Observing them All

I absolutely love Nepalese culture and feel deeply connected to it, just as I did in Bhutan. Their monasteries always leave a profound impression on me, and everywhere you look, you see something sacred. From a tiny mantra sticker on a wall to a statue tucked away in a corner, from the colorful prayer flags fluttering in the wind to locals making their way to or from a temple, everywhere, spirituality is present.

The craftsmanship here is extraordinary, spanning metal (singing bowls), wood (intricate carvings), textiles (handwoven fabrics and embroidery), and stone (sculptures meticulously carved by hand), paper (which is still made by hand), mandalas (which are painted by hand and can take months to create), pottery (which they master) and so many more I have not listed ( I am planning a dedicated newsletter on this). The time and effort put into these works of art demand to be acknowledged, appreciated, and admired.

Recharging After Three Months in Sumba | A Welcome Break

Exploring a new place was exactly what I needed. In just a few days, I already feel deeply nourished by everything I’ve seen. More than the place itself, it’s the people that make it special. Nothing beats quality family time, and having my mom and dad here was just what I needed. As if we had never been apart, we picked up right where we left off on our last WhatsApp call, fully aware of how rare these moments have become (completely my fault). They admitted they’re glad I push them to travel, because if it weren’t for me, they would have never ended up in Nepal (you’re welcome hehe!).

The only one missing is Margot, who had to stay home for work. See you in Belgium, I’m already counting down to see you again …

More to come about Nepal, because there is so much worth sharing!

Talk soon,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 22h15

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 24 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Pollution is Colonialism by Max Liboiron

Hi there,

I am happy to be starting a new “destination” within my Greeting from newsletters: Karaja. The project and my work related to it takes up so much of my time (which I don’t mind at all), I feel it’s worth sharing. Not just the hub in Sumba, but my overarching work on garment durability and how it can be a way to move towards a just circular transition.

Craftivism | What does it stand for?

“Craftivism combines traditional handicrafts with activism to promote social change. The idea is that through craft, you are performing a type of activism.”

It’s not by accident I ended up on an island where such an incredible craft is still honored and practices on a daily basis: ikat weaving. Traditionally these handwoven cloths were the dress of the Sumbanese, draping them around their bodies. The full process can take up to one year to make, considering that cotton was grown on the island. Quite unimaginable for all of us, considering how fast we often want to see the result, use, consume, dispose and start all over again. Starting over with an ikat weaving is not an option, it thus asks endless dedication, passion, attention to details and perseverance to weave.

Craft in the age of Climate Crisis | The case for Ikat

This report by Fashion Revolution India highlight the importance of craft in the age of climate crisis. The study shares: “artisanal crafts promote circular economies”. Looping ikat perfectly into my work on a just circular transition, and the garment role durability plays in it. Basically understanding, how can we make garments last, and help move away from our current throw-away culture. I took a few key points from the report, as they perfectly explain the power of ikat, in the age of the climate crisis we are facing today.

Ikat has an extremely high cultural value, as the fabrics often tell stories woven in by the weavers. However, this is not always reflected in its prices, especially since over the past few years more and more fake and machine-made fabrics have started appearing on the markets. This pushes down the prices, and pressures weavers to sell ikat at a price that does not even come close to reflect the amount they have put in it.

Craft’s value | Endless loops of resistance

Not sure yet why crafts are valuable? Let’s make a comparison.

By supporting traditional (local) crafts, you support a community where you …

• Buy locally | Sup

  port someone you know, living in your community

• Create things yourself | Enabling a lasting relationship with the item

• Support craftsmen | And help keep their skills alive

• Do not buy (ultra-) fast fashion | And clearly signaling F*** Fast Fashion

… all of the above are acts of resistance against a system which runs on …

• Mass cooperations | Which erase small local businesses

• Overproduction & overconsumption | Let’s keep making more and more stuff, fed by our constant urge to consume

• Exploitation | It’s okay to take without giving

• Homogenization | Everything should be the same

So, the choice is yours, what type of system do you want to be part of?

Spreading the word | Join the community!

A big part of the Karaja Upcycling hub is education. Sharing facts about upcycling, and the positive impacts it can have. Furthermore, my aim has also always been that I publish or share part of my PhD in a format accessible to all. I personally don’t see the point in writing a 200-page long document, which no one can understand, and will gather dust on a shelf (no way josé). Finding different ways to translate my work, questions, perspectives is both interesting and challenging. So I am trying to do it with words, visuals, graphs and a combination of all of the above.

And as the report writes about the roots of craft, I hope I can spark the interest with my students to ask their parents and grandparents what Sumba used to be like before, when their animist Marapu beliefs guided them through daily life, in deep connectivity with their ancestors.

Stay tuned for more tales from Karaja Sumba, a beloved destination of mine!

Talk soon,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 10h30

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 30 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie

Hi there,

It hasn’t been that long since my last newsletter—one that was quite different from how I usually write, but so deeply aligned with how I felt at that moment. I received so many kind responses, and let me make one thing clear: yes, I’m doing well. The lows are just part of a journey filled with highs.

Today is about making amends and piecing things together—literally and figuratively.

“Ibu, I loved your class” | Patching together the results of my sustainability classes

After teaching my weekly sustainability class yesterday, one of my students came up to me and said, “Teacher, I loved your class. I think I really like sustainability.” Hallelujah! Such a small moment, but what an energy boost.

I love teaching sustainability, but I sometimes forget just how new this topic is for my students. When I ask them, they all confirm they’ve never learned anything about it before. That makes introducing these concepts extra challenging, not just because of language barriers, but because it’s a completely unfamiliar subject. So when I start rambling about greenhouse gases, human activities, and fossil fuels, I need to remind myself that their puzzled expressions, their hesitation to interact, or their struggles to recite new definitions aren’t signs of boredom (though I suspect the ones openly yawning might feel differently).

Instead of frustration, I should be patient. I need to bridge the gap in a way that makes sense to them, connecting it to Sumba, where rain is becoming scarce, temperatures are rising, and water shortages are a growing threat, all while floods still have the power to destroy homes.

Once again, my students are teaching me how to be a better teacher. And while I still get frustrated when they haven’t reviewed the lesson or don’t sort the trash as diligently as I’d like, I remind myself that anything is better than nothing. Slowly but surely, they’re finding their way in caring for the island they call home, and I get to play a small part in that.

“Ibu, now I also love sampah” | Patching fabric leftovers together

Last week, I spent another two days with the weavers of Karaja for the upcycling hub I started with Asty. Their progress is impressive, fast learners with high-quality finishing skills. But more than that, their motivation is incredible. They want to learn, experiment, and develop their upcycling techniques.

This time, we worked on sewing zippers, threading an overlock machine, and testing out linings. And then came a moment that made my heart swell—one of the seamstresses looked up and said, “Ibu, now I also love sampah (trash).” Meaning that from now on, whenever she sews something, she keeps all the fabric cutoffs, excited to repurpose them. What can I say? Mission accomplished.

With just a few instructions, they already know what to do. I’m beyond proud of how much they’ve achieved in such a short time. My hope is that little by little, they gain more independence, until eventually, they won’t need me at all.

“Ibu Bumi” | Making amends with myself and others

After a difficult period where I felt quite isolated, these past weeks have been about finding balance again. Work is work, but without some downtime, it just becomes an escape. So, I made time for myself, took trips, went out for dinner, hosted parties, sang karaoke, and laughed a lot. And without these moments, I can’t do my job properly. If my heart isn’t in it, then what’s the point?

That’s why I’m grateful for Kini walking into my office at the end of the day, saying, “Ibu, lesgo. Enough for today.” Enough indeed. Lesgo.

In the meantime, I’ve booked my return trip to Europe for July and August—something I’m really looking forward to. But for now, I am happy to be enjoying Sumba.

Talk soon,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 21h15

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 24 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie

Hi there,

This is the second newsletter of 2025, but a slightly different one. Normally, I find a theme based on where I’ve been and what I’ve been working on. But lately, my daily life has been overshadowed by emotions I don’t often experience—anger, sadness, and what feels like endless frustration.

So why?

One thing is clear: the honeymoon phase with Sumba is over. While I still get to witness its breathtaking landscapes, feel the spirit of its animist culture, and interact with SHF’s wonderful students every day, I’ve also seen its rougher edges. The loneliness, amplified by my promotion to director. The homesickness, having not set foot in Belgium for over a year and a half. The frustration of feeling misunderstood, and the conflict that comes with it—knowing I will always remain a visitor, a guest. The anger at the system, the lack of government support, the carelessness of a piece of trash tossed on the ground, or yet another local shouting “bule!” or “Hey mister, I love you!” Sorry, but I don’t love you, and actually, I’m a not a mister, but a miss.

Don’t get me wrong—the pros of being here still outweigh the cons. But recently, I’ve had to remind myself of them more often.

Two cultures far apart from each other

One of the starkest differences between Belgian and Indonesian culture is directness—or the lack of it. In Belgium, confrontation is common; people say what they think, even if it’s uncomfortable. In Indonesia, it’s different. A mix of hierarchy, colonial history, the urge to please and a deeply ingrained fear of making mistakes often leads people to say what they think you want to hear, rather than what they actually feel. A quick lie to cover the truth the easiest way to move forward. Even when I sense something is wrong and ask repeatedly, “Are you sure? Everything’s okay?”—the answer is always yes. Until it isn’t.

Instead of being told directly, frustrations often reach me through gossip, whispered through layers of people before landing at my ears, distorted and personal. Last week, I heard one of those rumors. It was ridiculous, deeply hurtful, and had nothing to do with my ability to do my job, moreover it was coming from someone I thought I had a good relationship with. At first, I brushed it off. But it stuck. I cried, got angry, cried again, and found comfort in my friends and family before finally confronting the team. A draining week filled with conversations, asking questions, trying to be honest with one another, and ultimately, apologies.

Moving forward

So why am I sharing this? To paint a bad picture of the Foundation, the island, or the people here? To make myself seem like a victim? Absolutely not.

I’m sharing this because it’s important to de-romanticize life on a remote tropical island like Sumba. It’s not all drink fresh coconuts on beautiful beaches (though, yes, Sundays are for that). I can say, without a doubt, I have never worked harder in my life than I do now. Because I believe in SHF’s mission. I believe in my research and work with the weavers. Above all, I believe Sumba is a special place, one that needs to be protected from what has happened to so many places in the world: homogenization. More of the same, less diversity, cultures fading into a big bland blob. As if consuming our way into happiness ever actually worked. While writing this, that spark that brought me here is lighted once again.

Last Saturday, I woke up feeling meh again. And then I thought, fuck it, Hester, it’s time to be happy again. There will come a day when I close the Sumba chapter. But that will be when I decide it will end. And for now, I’m exactly where I need to be.

So I compiled some pictures of the past weeks of moments that made me genuinely happy, what better way to finish this newsletter? On being happy once again.

Talk soon, lots of love,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 17h00

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 30 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: To Paradise - Hanya Yanagihara

Hi there,

Welcome to the first edition of Greetings from in 2025—hard to believe the first month is already over. My holiday in Lombok left me recharged and ready to start a new school year at SHF, where we welcomed Batch 9 students on January 6th. Their fresh energy has brought a renewed sense of enthusiasm to the entire SHF family.

Today, however, I want to continue my story about Karaja Sumba, the weavers, and the upcycling hub I finally managed to open this month. A dream come true, fueled entirely by my passion for craft and women’s empowerment.

What is Upcycling? – Giving Discarded Materials Another Chance

“Upcycling is a process where materials and clothes that have been thrown away—or are about to be—are turned into more valuable products that fit the local environment, reducing the need to make new ones.”

In essence, it’s about giving “waste” a second life.

I don’t like the word waste or trash, even though these words are deeply ingrained in our culture. To me, waste is a human concept, just like the idea that we can throw something “away.” But where is away, really? It’s always somewhere—just not in our sight.

And with 100 to 150 billion garments produced each year (a 50-billion difference—so much for transparency), do we really need to add more? That’s where upcycling comes in: transforming materials that someone has deemed useless into something valuable.

My PhD research focuses on how local upcycling hubs can help tackle the global textile waste crisis, largely fueled by fast fashion giants and our own overconsumption. From the start, I knew I didn’t want my research to end up as a 200-page academic manuscript collecting dust somewhere. I wanted it to be practical and useful.

Living in Sumba has challenged my views on research and sustainability. It’s easy to work in a silo, making assumptions about what might work without actually consulting the local community. That’s why this hub is so important—it’s built together with the people who will run it.

Connecting with the Weavers of Karaja Sumba

Asty has been my bridge to the local weaving community in Lamboya, a region known for Karaja ikat. For over a year now, I have visited the weavers every month, learning about their craft and understanding how my work could complement what Asty has been doing for years.

Beyond traditional ikat, Karaja also hosts natural dyeing workshops, giving a second life to stained garments. They create garments and accessories from their woven textiles, but this process inevitably leads to cutoff scraps. Considering that an ikat can take up to six months to make, no piece should go to waste—not even the smallest one.

Enter the Karaja Upcycling Hub: a space for trial and error, with one ultimate goal—to be 100% zero-waste.

On January 13th, we officially opened the hub, and I started teaching three women weavers basic machine-sewing skills. They picked it up incredibly fast—their hands already gifted in craftsmanship—so my job as a teacher was fairly easy. Instead, I focused on an upcycling approach to sewing, showing them why no garment, textile, or ikat scrap should ever be thrown away.

At first, I sensed some hesitation, but as the workshop progressed and they saw what I was trying to do, they quickly embraced the idea and made it their own.

What’s Next?

My plan is to visit every two weeks for two days at a time, introducing new techniques little by little. I have seen how this approach works—just like with Ibu Lusia at SHF, once the basics are in place, the women can take over and continue independently.

That’s the only way I can claim this project to be truly sustainable—if it can run without me being there.

And for how much longer will I be in Sumba? I’m not sure.

One of the weavers, Ibu Anas, asked me: “How much longer do you plan to keep coming here?”

From her tone, I wasn’t sure if my visits were a blessing or a burden. Hesitantly, I replied, “Well, at first, I was thinking of coming by every two weeks to keep teaching you… if you like that, of course.”

She smiled: “We love it when you come. We want you to keep coming back.”

That was a moment of relief and belonging. Thank you, Ibu. That means so much to me.

I feel incredibly lucky to share my passion with these women while learning so much from them in return. It’s a constant dialogue, a mutual exchange of knowledge, and together, we challenge each other—one patchwork at a time.

Follow us on Instagram to see how the hub evolves and get inspired to try upcycling yourself.

Lots of love,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Lombok, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 18h55

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 27 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: The Things You Can See Only When You Slow Down: How to Be Calm in a Busy World - Sunim Haenim

Hi there,

Last one of the year! I took the time to send out a “Greetings From” newsletter today, before the closing of 2024. The past month has been one I was able to share with a dear friend, Laurie. We met during our bachelor’s degree back in Ghent and started building a lifelong friendship that is thriving even though we have been very far apart from each other geographically. A long-planned trip now finally became reality, arriving in Sumba a little over three weeks ago to start a memorable few weeks together.

Welcome to my Sumba life Laurie!

I really enjoy introducing people from my life before Sumba, like Laurie, to my current life in Sumba. Through texting and calls, I explain and talk about my Sumba life, but seeing it in person herself clarifies a lot. She is now sure that when I claim to “not have stable Wi-Fi,” that is not a lie. When I say “I have many things going on,” she can see that’s actually the case and that “you never know what to expect in Sumba” is nothing but the truth.

Laurie was kind enough to volunteer for two weeks at the Foundation, helping out with a variety of tasks. At the same time, this allowed me to finalize some work before the end of the year and our holiday in Lombok (more about this later). She helped in the sewing workshop (we did the same bachelor’s in Fashion Technology), created slides for F&B (she used to work during the holidays in a restaurant), and taught a sewing class with me, introducing the students to patchwork techniques.

Exploring the beauty of the island

Besides work, we also made time for some trips in Sumba. We ended up in Ngalung Kalla, a destination that had been on my bucket list since arriving on the island. This “health retreat” was created by a couple who have been in Sumba for almost 20 years. They created a hidden paradise that is completely in tune with the natural surroundings and even enhances it. We both gasped upon arriving, as we agreed that never in our lives had we seen a place like this. The room, setting, facilities, activities, food, people, and overall atmosphere just made perfect sense. I did surfing for the first time in Sumba, which was so great. We did yoga, rode bicycles, did an extensive permaculture garden tour, which was super interesting, and enjoyed the beautiful sunsets while enjoying homegrown and homemade food. A place I will definitely go back to, but I’m so happy to have experienced it for the first time with Laurie.

After two weeks in Sumba, we left for the next chapter of our time together: Lombok. This island is near Bali and is less known, hence less busy. Beautiful beaches, good surf, nice restaurants, and an interesting culture make it a nice place to spend some time together. Oh, and the second-highest volcano in Indonesia, Rinjani, which we decided to climb.

Ending the year on a high - Climbing the Rinjani together, one step at a time

We wanted to add a little adventure to our Lombok trip and agreed to climb the Rinjani volcano, notoriously known for its very intense hike and steep climb. On top of this, we did it at the end of the season (the park closes for three months from January to March because of the weather), which might have been a rather dumb choice, as the rain makes the hike way less pleasant. On top of all this, Laurie got quite sick and needed medical assistance the day of departure. For some reason, no idea how and what, we did go through with the plan, left the area we were staying, and drove four hours up, arriving in the small town neighboring our tall friend. Pouring rain, with the message “people still left,” we braced ourselves for a challenging three-day, two-night trip.

First things first, Laurie thankfully felt way better after a great night’s sleep, recharged with the much-needed energy to climb this volcano. We were accompanied by a guide and two porters who did the whole setup of our tent and also cooked our meals (which is insane considering they climb this thing twice a week), which were always very delicious and creatively plated (see the apple swan in the pictures). On Day 1, we left the hotel at 8:00, got registered to enter the park, and started the walk. Very quickly, we could enjoy a variety of landscapes, from forest and grasslands to green mountains, riverbeds, and rocky lava stones. The park has several posts where you can take a rest, and other hikers enjoy a lunch break.

We continued going up, which at times was very steep, and around 15:30, arrived at our camping area, where our tent would be set up. During one of our breaks, we came across two hikers who were descending. They mentioned how the hike was extremely tough, cold, rainy, and not worth it, as the bad weather caused them to not see anything. With this testimony in mind, I went to sleep (sleep was not really a thing in our little tent that was clearly suffering from the severe wind and rain during the night), trying to stay motivated and optimistic to get up at 2:00 in the morning to do the final part of the hike to reach the summit.

Knock-knock at 2:00, some white bread thrown in our tent with a cup of tea, headlamps, gloves, and hats on, ready to reach, or at least hopefully reach, the top. One thing they were very smart about was to let us do this part in the dark. Why? Because if we would have seen what we needed to climb, we most likely would have just turned around. Reaching the summit takes you around 3.5 hours from the camping spot, with the final hour being the most tricky one. On the one hand, mentally, because you are already tired from the previous part, but mostly physically, as it is extremely steep and you are walking in volcanic sand, which is extremely hard to walk in, let alone climb. That being said, it was dark, we just looked at our feet, and one step at a time convinced ourselves we were getting closer. And then, around 6:00 in the morning, the sun started rising and we saw the summit, which was still a bit more up but within reach. We both flipped a switch, found some strength we both were not sure we had, and walked until we finally reached our goal: standing on the top together, with a smile.

3,726 meters high, this volcano is not one I will soon forget, or climb again. As I am writing this newsletter, three days later, I can assure you I have never been so sore in my life. My legs are heavy, taking stairs is just out of the question, and the thought of going on a hike is unimaginable. The day we reached the top, we also decided to shorten our trip and go directly down. This, however, led us to walk 35 kilometers in one day, going up, down, and down again. My feet were screaming, my legs felt like spaghetti, and my motivation was hard to gather at times. But WE DID IT! And I could not have been prouder of ourselves.

About 2024 - Looking back at a year full of highs and lows

The Rinjani experience reflects really well how the past year has been: one filled with highs and lows, challenges, proud moments, laughter, love, friendship, nature, and an overall steep learning curve. Being a director and PhD student is something I entirely chose for myself, but it has left me tired, frustrated, and honestly sad at times. It has forced me to make certain professional decisions I did not want to make as a person, learn things about my personality through exchanges at work, which all lead me to focus on finding a balance between work and life while living at work. I still cannot grasp how much I keep learning on a daily basis, something I am guaranteed to continue in the new year. That, and being kinder to myself. Because while I always stimulate others to try, to learn, and to grow, I don’t seem to give myself the time to do so.

With that in mind, I am sure 2025 will be a year to continue that steep learning curve, helping me tackle the lows that cannot be avoided to reach the top, wherever that might be and look like.

Lots of love and see you in 2025,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 23h05

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 25 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Intermezzo - Sally Rooney

Hi there,

Time flies faster than I can manage to write a newsletter, especially when I try to capture all the moments I experience in Sumba, the encounters I have, the growth I experience and the lessons I have learnt. But there was one special, very special event that I had to dedicate a newsletter to: a last-minute and very spontaneous visit from my father. Yes, father Geert came all the way to Sumba, for the second time. And what a meaningful visit that was for both of us.

Welcoming Pak Geert back to SHF

Homesickness comes and goes. It comes when you least expect it and overwhelms you with a mixture of sadness, loneliness and longing. Even more than missing a place, it's the people who make a place feel like home. I have always been very close to my parents and my sister, so after a while these feelings become stronger and harder to overcome alone. After a phone call with my parents, mine decided to honour me with another visit. Not even 30 minutes after we hung up, his flight was booked and less than a week later we were reunited in Sumba. Lucky me (really lucky me!)!

Spending time together in Sumba

Seeing us again felt so natural and strange at the same time. We are in regular contact by phone and keep each other up to date, but nothing beats being together in real life. What I really enjoyed about my dad’s visit is that he was really here to be part of my daily life in Sumba. I continue to work, but we spent different moments together throughout the day: starting with a good breakfast where we discussed the day's planning or any topic, followed by lunch where he gave me some much-needed advice, made me laugh or let me relax, while dinner was a bit more elaborate, sometimes preceded by a sunset, a walk on the beach or a trip to the city to change the environment. These 'little' moments together had a big impact on me.

Little by little, I was able to open up again, did not need any barriers and could be 100% myself. I think the same is true for my father, because I realised that this visit was also very meaningful for him. He now understands even better what SHF is all about and what role I play within the organisation. I am also very proud of him that he has found the courage to travel all this way alone and that he is so open-minded to learn about a new culture, to meet many people and is willing to get to know them (language and cultural barriers aside).

Together we fly high - Sharing a special moment together

During my dad’s visit, the students celebrated their graduation. A very special day for which their families sometimes travelled for hours to reach the campus. The entire SHF family came together to witness a very moving ceremony that the students had spent months preparing for. Dancing, singing, moving speeches, more dancing and singing brought tears to the eyes of almost everyone in attendance as we all shared in the joy and pride of our students’ accomplishments. Spending a year together on campus, living, learning and working together, creates a very special and close bond. One that will last a lifetime.

For me it marked the first year of SHF students I witnessed from the beginning. I was able to teach them weekly about sustainability and sewing. It also marked a year of transition as I started in the role of sustainability manager, and become director in August. A change which has been a big challenge for me, both personally and professionally. A unique opportunity above all, for me to grow and gain strength, but above all a reminder to find the balance between giving and receiving, speaking and listening, sharing and figuring things out on my own, building barriers, while keeping my heart open to genuinely feel and connect with others.

The year is coming to an end and the last few months in my new role have made me realise how important it is to take care of myself and maintain that balance, to ensure that while it is normal and very human to want to give, sometimes I also want to receive. It's not a sign of weakness, it’s a sign of strength. The strength to recognise that sharing is winning as my dad would say. And I am oh so glad that I shared these two weeks with him.

Talk soon,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 20h50

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 30 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: Kafka on the Shore - Haruki Murakami

Hi there!

It's been a long time since I have written a newsletter, although I have been meaning to for a while. Since my various mini trips in September and October, I have been on Sumba full time for a month. Staying here all this time brings me peace and a certain consistency that I have been longing for. Today I want to tell you more about a very special encounter that brought me back to my roots.

A special place filled with special encounters

Life in Sumba can be quite isolating, but it is also a place full of meaningful encounters. Many different people from different backgrounds strand here, all with one thing in common: a certain curiosity about the island and its unique culture. Since its inception, SHF has welcomed many volunteers who all contribute to the organisation in their own way. When I arrived last year, I heard about a great chef who visited the campus to share her unimaginable knowledge with our students. Too bad I missed her, I thought, until she decided to honour her with another visit a few weeks ago.

About Liz

Chef Liz is originally from Flores, an island in the same region of Indonesia as Sumba (NTT), and lives near Labuan Bajo. The latter harbour town is famous for being the gateway to the Komodo Islands, a place I was lucky enough to visit. She is a trained midwife, but after a few years working in a hospital, she left this path and started paving a new one. New is I think the wrong name, as she followed a path that had been prepared long ago by her ancestors. She has her own home stay where people from all over the world come to live authentically and eat pure food prepared with love. She houses women and children who have been excluded by their families, giving them the second chance they deserve.

Liz and I had been talking on Whatsapp for a few weeks, but only about logistics (flights, schedule, airport pick-up, …). When she replied to my very first message asking her if she would be willing to come back, she addressed me directly as “Sister”. This is quite common in Indonesia and shows a closeness that goes beyond the standard concept of family. In Indonesian they call you Kaka or Kak Hester, which means Older Sister. In Dutch, the word Kaka has a slightly different meaning, so I am still getting used to being called Kaka Hestie without feeling offended...

That being said, when Ka Liz arrived, I was not on campus, so I texted her to meet me for breakfast the next day. Intruiged by the stories I had heard about her, I entered the restaurant and was welcomed with a warm embrace that resonated with a sense of home, a sense of belonging. We looked at each other and started talking as if we had been chatting for years. And I am pretty sure our spirits had met before in a previous life, waiting for the day when our paths would cross again. And they eventually did.

Over coffee and breakfast, we shared our projects, traced our roots, reflected on our values and plotted future plans, fuelled by the hope of something better. What Chef Liz embodies is truly remarkable. She is a walking encyclopaedia, she touches, feels and smells all the plants and finds out which ones can be used for what. Before she harvests, she asks the land for permission, showing respect for what Mother Earth offers us. A small gesture that has a big impact. She only spent a week at SHF, but her contribution was enormous. She shared recipes with the culinary students, helped our F&B students make healing drinks, had the spa students make natural shampoo and conditioner, and took our nurse on a healing herb tour of campus to find natural alternatives to conventional medicine.

Sharing is caring - Farm-to-table dining

On Saturday we organised a big shared dinner with all the staff, students and guests. I helped out in the kitchen and garden, which I had not done for too long. Cooking with everyone was full of joy. Seeing how she interacts with the students, how pure her food is, how she respects local ingredients and prepares everything with so much care and love was inspiring for all our students. Over the last year, we have been preparing them for the hospitality industry, but it does involve exhausting days. What Chef Liz advised them to do was to fall in love. Fall in love with yourself because that will influence how you cook and how your food tastes. What does love have to do with food, you may think? Food is love, food is medicine.

Feeling rooted

I must admit that I was very moved by this encounter. She told me that I am a warrior who fights on the front line and was born to be a leader. I have never thought of myself as a warrior, nor as someone who takes the lead. She clarified that this is not through violence or by hurting others, but with love that comes from a fire deep inside me. And when I heard that, it made a lot of sense. Sometimes people ask me how it is that I am so passionate about “sustainability”, “trash", “justice”, … I always try to put it down to a particular event or encounter, but I can never really explain why exactly. I’m just the way I am, the way I have always been. Hearing this so clearly from her grounded me connecting me back to my roots. Roots that I can trace all the way back to Belgium, where a fertile ground was created for me to grow by my loving surroundings. Grow into whoever I wanted to be, despite all the ups and downs that come with it. It’s very special when you feel like you have found the right place for yourself, where everything fits together.

And even though this is on the other side of the world from where I grew up, I will never forget my roots.

Talk soon,

Hestie -x-

CURRENT LOCATION: Canggu Bali, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 19h55

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 25 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: The Sympathizer - Viet Thanh Ngyen

Hi everyone,

How are you? Lately I feel like I've been very good at writing a regular newsletter, but time has once again passed me by, and the last issue was over 3 weeks ago when I just got back from Yogyakarta. I don't know how fast life can go, but time flies! So without further ado, let me take you through my last three weeks.

Home Sweet Sumba - returning home after three weeks away

I was away for a while in August, so returning to Sumba was exciting because I missed the island, the students, my friends and the work at the foundation. A few new faces had arrived and each one of them brought with them a joyful new energy. Since the beginning of August, I have been appointed Director of the Foundation, which comes with more responsibility and more work (hallelujah, I officially need 48-hour days). It’s an exciting opportunity as I have the chance to lead a team of 50 staff and guide 70 students on their journey through vocational training. So Monday was a big day as I had to “start 'properly' in this new role for me. Since my arrival in July last year, I have been able to tackle many new projects and at the same time work on the continuous improvement of daily processes. So my aim is to continue to do this whilst ensuring that the working and learning environment is positive and encouraging, as it is also the living environment for all the students and most of the staff. The first week was super exciting because we had the graduation for our MD students, who are now all starting their internship in Sumba and Bali.

Spending time with Asty - A close friend by now

Every month I try to go to Lamboya, which is on the other side of the island, to visit Asty. It is always so relaxing and energising at the same time to spend time with her. She gives me a boost of energy, always inspires me with new ideas and amazes me with her daily outfit, which is always better than the one I've seen before. This time we visited her father's village, which has recently joined the Karaja community. More than 50 women now belong to this incredible community of weavers who are able to earn a living while preserving the island’s cultural heritage: ikat. The village has spent months preparing, building looms, erecting platforms for the guests and clearing all the trash to provide a good experience for the guests (and more importantly, nicer living conditions for them).

Personal projects - PHD & crochet

In between work, I've been working hard on my PHD, which is now more focussed on upcycling, i.e. how we can make something more valuable out of discarded materials. I did this last year with the help of Ibu Lusia at SHF and will soon be opening a second upcycling workshop in Lamboya together with Asty. The aim is to work with a local partner who will provide us with discarded textiles and teach some women how to sew using upcycling techniques. This project aims to have a positive impact on the environment and society by creating decent jobs and working with “waste” (I hate that word). The aim is to develop a model for local 'upcycling hubs' that can provide a solution to the global waste crisis. To clear my head and switch off from everything, I spent quite a while crhocetting. I've just finished my first vest, and I'm very proud of the result. Next up is a top, another hat, a bag and … Whenever I find the time.

Responsible tourism in the Philippines

I was able to attend the annual meeting of The Long Run, an NGO that focusses on responsible tourism and of which SHF is a member. Every year, the different members meet in one of the houses to discuss their activities, find solutions to common problems and inspire each other. It was my first time in the country and Siargao, the island where the hotel was located, is beautiful (although I didn't have time to explore it). A highlight was definitely the surrounding mangroves and the short canoe trip I took between the canals. Also of course all the exchanges with the others and the great food!

Talking to others about waste management, I realised that many are struggling with the same problems as us. I also realised (and sometimes I should) that we are actually very progressive and have come a long way in our waste management. A little reminder to myself that while we are always striving to be better, we occasionally need moments of pride and recognition of what we have achieved. So Hestie, you've already done a great job (but I've been given so many ideas to get even better, hehe).

About taking a break sometimes - I am talking to myself

It’s easy to only ever write about good things in these newsletters, especially considering the paradise I live in. However, life here isn't always as easy as it might seem. Last week I had an accident on my scooter, the first since I arrived here (which is quite an achievement considering the obstacles the Sumbanese roads present). A dog appeared, crossed the road (without looking left or right) and ran into my front wheel. Hestie on the road, the dog underneath my scooter and lots of confused Sumbanese people who didn't know what to do. The people were all super helpful, offering me water and helping me to the nearby clinic. Apart from a cut on my knee and the shock, I was fine until I fainted and fell flat on my face (I have a flair for the dramatic). I was unconscious for what seemed like hours for a few seconds and woke up feeling lonely and sad. An extreme longing for home. Although I consider Sumba my home, it is not the only one I have. My close family and friends are on the other side of the world and it's moments like these that make you realise how alone I actually am on this remote island. Of course, all the staff and students were there to look after me and offer their help, but when you long for certain people, no one can replace them.

And what did I learn? That dogs on Sumba are stupid and I can't trust them (sorry but …). Apart from that, I was super tired on the day of the accident because I had been working non-stop. I was on my way to the gym as part of my strict schedule before I planned to work some more. So let’s interpret what happened as a wake-up call for me: hello Hestie, you can't keep going at this speed. Litteral speed with my scooter, which I sometimes ride too fast, but also figuratively that it’s okay and necessary to take a break every now and then. Working 6 days a week for SHF + PhD + going on trips + extra projects + lack of sleep = less focus = less enjoyment of what I'm doing = dumb things happening.

If I don’t take care of myself, how can I do all these projects with the goal of taking care of Mother Earth and all the living beings on her? That is clearly impossible. Travelling to the Philippines has given me new energy, inspiration and many hours of sleep (thank you!). It's a challenge for me to continue to maintain a good work-life balance, especially because I'm so passionate about what I do, but if I don’t, it will harm me.

With that in mind, sometimes this happy Hesty needs to calm down, take a little more time and be a little kinder to herself. Writing this down affirms it, so I will work hard (not actually do more work) to make it happen. Let’s see how that goes …

Take care of yourself and talk soon,

Hestie -x-